


Tracing Boundary Lines

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Gaby teaches him a lesson, Honeypot, Illya gets jealous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya’s attention was still on Gaby. When she crossed the room, the crowd parted like a rolling tide. There was a drink in her hand and a smile on her lips as she made her way to the black leather couch where the owner of the club sat. Illya’s gaze lingered on her legs first where his fingers had roamed only hours ago back in the hotel room.  She had been stretched out on the couch, legs in his lap where he traced lines back and forth along the soft skin of her calves. When Solo had left them to get ready, he had taken it upon himself to kiss her once, a brief kiss to her forehead before they both moved to get dressed.  He got to kiss her once more too, a small one on the back of her neck when he zipped her up into that impossibly short dress that was now getting her more attention than he ever wanted her to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tracing Boundary Lines

The whole nightclub is under their surveillance. The agents are brought into the middle of an up and coming New Orleans nightclub, said to be the home-base of a very rich man, with very odd hobby of collecting old things. Old things being the general term for stolen artifacts. Artifacts all taken from their homes in museums, stolen from universities and other privates housings. Most of them were kept by the mark, some were sold. The only thing the agency really knew was the man’s name William Armand and his side business. Of course his side business was in the States much to the dismay of their Russian comrade. The trio had come back together to find not only the man behind it all, but the rest of the goods as well. They had been briefed only hours before, Gaby stretched out on the lounge chair in the hotel room, legs strewn across Illya’s lap while Napoleon read out their itinerary. They were to go to the nightclub and case the place for any signs of illegal dealings, an easy in and out first night. 

Gaby’s dress is red and too short. Illya almost refused to let her leave the hotel without some sort of extra layering on. She ends up taking a coat that she leaves in the car just to draw attention to herself. It’s all part of the mission. She’s to find the owner and give the both men time to scope out the place, if they found the storage room where the items were being held it would be easier than Gaby trying to make herself the new girlfriend in Armand’s life. 

Her dress was working though. They were only there for an hour when the drinks started pouring in. Gaby sat on the end of the bar with plenty of suitors sending glasses her way. She accepted some, declined others. She took only the hard drinks, leaving the mixed drinks for other patrons at the bar. It didn’t take her long to attract Armand’s attention. He sat one one of those sleek couches in the middle of the nightclub, with plenty of women around him. His eyes however hadn’t left Gaby’s incredibly short dress and Illya had never stopped staring at Armand. His fingers were starting their methodical tapping. There was no alcohol in his system, just the loud pounding of the swing beats in the background. 

Napoleon passed his vision, trying to jerk his head towards the back hallway, but Illya’s attention was still on Gaby. When she crossed the room, the crowd parted like a rolling tide. There was a drink in her hand and a smile on her lips as she made her way to the black leather couch where the owner sat. Illya’s gaze lingered on her legs first where his fingers had roamed only hours ago back in the hotel room. She had been stretched out on the couch, legs in his lap where he traced lines back and forth along the soft skin of her calves. When Solo had left them to get ready, he had taken it upon himself to kiss her once, a brief kiss to her forehead before they both moved to get dressed. He got to kiss her once more too, a small one on the back of her neck when he zipped her up into that impossibly short dress that was now getting her more attention than he ever wanted her to have. 

Gaby was all mission though, her body language was all focused on Armand, not on her partners. She laughed with an exaggerated smile, raised her glass when the man told her a joke, and they even clinked glasses when the host laughed. Illya watched every little movement she made while Solo moved along the back half of the establishment. He watched every little movement Armand made as well, every single stretch the man made towards Gaby, making Illya grind his teeth. It takes every bit of him not to jump up and shout when Armand’s finger trails from Gaby’s flushed cheek to her throat, tracing a line across her jaw like she’s a fine piece of artwork. Of course to Illya she is a beautiful piece of artwork, but not for others to touch. Not for other men to leer at either. Mission or no mission, he’s at the end of his rope when his little ‘Chop Shop’ girl stands. Armand’s hand slips over the back of her dress and he’s escorting her towards the back of the club. The man’s fingers are slipping over her waist and Gaby turns her head over her shoulder, throwing a glance to Illya in the dark corner of the bar. He knows she's not asking him to save her, but he can see the distress cross her face. She doesn’t like the idea of being alone with Armand but there’s a chance she won’t have to. At least not if Illya has anything to do with it. The American man sweeps Gaby away from it all, his greedy hands holding onto her scantily clad form as he guides her to the back of his establishment.

 

The German woman does not let a single detail escape her sharp gaze. With each step towards the back hall, she scans for doors. Some say employees only in silver lettering and another one says private, no admittance. William Armand however leads her right past this door. He keeps his hands on her short dress, drawing odd little circles here and there across the thin fabric. He is handsome and rich, but he is no Illya to her. The whole night she could feel her Russian partner watching her, even before Armand had started his wooing scheme, she had felt Illya’s eyes tracing the small curves she did hold onto. Armand whispers something to her in that slow southern drawl and Gaby pretends to fan her face, flushing a bit. It helps she’s been drinking, otherwise she would just be annoyed with the whole plan. Solo was nowhere to be seen and Illya hadn’t even bothered looking for the room with artifacts. Instead Gaby had to take matters into her own hand. She had leaned across that sleek little couch and whispered in Armand’s ear, lipstick smearing along his earlobe as she did so. All to silently beg him for some place more intimate. The man had jumped at the opportunity. He lead her down the dark hallway, passing another door with another private sign before they reached the last door on the left. Like all the others it was painted black and this one had multiple private signs as well as a deadbolt on it. Gaby shifted in her heels, leaning a bit on the American man as he dug into his expensive suit for keys. Pretending to be tipsy was easy in a short dress. All she had to do was press against his side and he showed all his cards, figuratively speaking of course. He produced a set of keys from his pocket and raised a little brass one on the end to give it a little wave, “Now my dear, I shall show you something really enticing.” 

 

Armand’s own words are a little slurred but Gaby puts on an over exaggerated show with her lashes fluttering and lips curving into a smile. The deadbolt clicks and Gaby’s inside before any more words can be exchanged. Inside the room starts off dark before the lights are turned on, illuminating a very sleek office full of very old things. The faint scent of myrrh assaults her nose as she steps forward. There are shipping crates against the far wall and a black desk in the center of the room. Along the way though there are several pedestals with expensive looking artifacts perched atop of them. Gaby’s heart stutters in her chest as she takes in the beauty of one of the old statues, a faded sculpture of a woman who was probably once very beautiful, stolen from her home in a museum. She almost lifts a hand to touch it, but Armand grabs a hold of her fingers giving them a light squeeze. He turns Gaby towards him in a small twirl, like they should be on the dance floor. She had almost forgotten he had been alongside her in the room, but she moves with ease, turning into his form a hand on his chest. Gaby is ready to leave now, the ring on her finger no longer transmits but it’s a reminder that she has backup in the building. 

The man though completely ignores the hand on his chest. He leans in easily, his six-foot three stature dwarfing her as he catches the corner of her mouth in a kiss. If she pulls back now after seeing the artifacts she’ll tip him off that she’s more than just a wealthy heiress. It’s something she can’t do just yet, but she can render him unconscious if given the upper-hand. After a year with U.N.C.L.E. she has learned more than a few tricks to these missions and turns her head up to kiss the man back. She meets his mouth with her own and starts leading him back towards the desk. Armand’s hands slip down the sides of her dress, seeking a zipper as she backs him up. The moment he hits the desk, he doesn’t know what hits him. Gaby has her hands in his short hair, fingernails slipping along his throat and then he’s unconscious. There’s a small desk lamp in Gaby’s hand when Illya finally gets the door open. The bulb is broken and Armand’s temple is bleeding but he’s out cold and that’s all that matter’s to Gaby as she turns to look over her shoulder.

“About time.” She clicks her tongue at him like she’s been waiting all night for him to break down the door. Illya’s gaze lingers on her for far too long and when she looks down, she knows why. Half of her is on the desk with Armand under her, her dress is a little too high -- threatening to show the world her expensive lingerie and her lipstick is smeared, “It’s not what it looks like.” She quickly adds on.

Illya’s nose flares as he sucks in a sharp breath, “It is exactly what it looks like.” His accent clips the words harshly as he stalks forward. His hand captures her upper arm and he practically hauls Gaby off of the American. Her feet leave the desk and touch back down before she wrenches her arm away from his hold.

“Oh let go of me!” She practically shouts at him before gesturing around to the rest of the room, “I found the goods with no help from you, so I do not need your help in here.” 

“You plan on carrying artifacts out by yourself?” Illya raises a fine brow in her direction and Gaby scowls in return. He opens his arms in a sweeping gesture around the room, “Be my guest.” 

Before the mechanic can come up with a word the door swings open and in slips Solo. He looks back and forth between the two of them before tilting his dark head to the side, feeling the tension in the room as he clears his throat, “So, we’ve found the stuff.” His gaze cuts to an unconscious and bleeding Armand, “And we’ve knocked out our source. Good job you two.”

The sarcasm is not missed on either of them as Solo circles some of the pedestals and then glances to an unconscious Armand on the desk. He has Gaby’s lipstick all over his mouth and collar. He doesn’t even have to say anything, he can feel the tension filling the room and the jealousy practically radiating off of Illya where he knows the two of them have finally made the connection. They’re not as secretive as they think they are. For two spies, their relationship is not as subtle as their jobs are. Waverly has no idea of course but Napoleon can see it all. He does after all spend the most time with them. Turning towards both of his partners he shrugs his shoulders, “I say we move the goods out the back and arrange for a pick up.” 

The trio does that. Armand stays out and for good measure, they drag him to another office in the back and leave him there while they carry what artifacts they can out. An unmarked truck slows by a little more than an hour later and two fellow agents hop out, loading up the rest of the cases. Expensive art and sculptures are rescued from the back of the nightclub and Gaby is freezing by the time the truck leaves. Her small arms are crossed over her front with her shoulders hunched over a bit. Illya however makes no move to cover her. He’s still angry with her, angry with the American man too who dared put his hands on her. His jaw clenches again and he tries to stop himself from grinding his teeth, even when Solo unbuttons his own coat for her to use. Napoleon is not much shorter than Illya, but still big enough that his coat practically swallows her whole. She buries herself inside of it as the three of them head off for the night. Their mission is a success but Illya grades it as a failure in his mind and none of them speak as they head back to the hotel room. Gaby doesn’t linger behind and slip into Illya’s room, instead she beelines right for the elevators and hits her own floor before either of the boys can join her. Her thumb is mashed over the ‘close doors’ button, and she traps herself in the elevator alone with her reflection off of the shining walls staring back at her. Her makeup is a mess, smeared across her lips like a lady of the night, the scent of alcohol clings to her, along with smoke and whatever is left of her perfume. By the time the elevator doors open, she no longer cares what she looks like as she reaches up to free her hair. She drops pins behind her, undoing the curls, fluffing them down her shoulders as she moves into her own hotel room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

“You could have been a bit nicer.” Solo draws out the words as he stands in front of the closed elevator doors. Gaby still has his jacket, leaving him slightly annoyed that his beautiful suit is missing it’s greatest piece. Illya simply crossed his arms in response to his partner, his lips curling up for a split moment to say something but he stops himself. Instead he settles for gripping on his own suit, fingers tapping along the fabric as he cuts his gaze up to the elevator. Gaby is staying a floor above him, he watches the little light above the elevator door linger on her floor.

“I should have found the room first.” Illya cuts right to the point as he smooths his hands down along his sleeves and leaves Napoleon there in front of the elevators, opting to take the stairs to his floor. Only when he makes it to the fifth floor, he skips the door and goes up one more stretch of stairs. His hands twitch as he goes for the door, moving his way out of the stairway and onto the hotel floor. It takes him several minutes just to get to her door, he paces back and forth like an oversized jungle cat. Muscles moving slowly under his skin as he paces left to right only to pivot on his heel and do it once more. He does this until a faint sound is heard from inside the hotel room. It sounds like the radio, turned up two notches too loud. The KGB agent only hesitates for a moment before he knocks. 

When his knocks go unanswered, he has a slight moment of panic. He knocks once more and waits. Nothing. No one comes to the door, there’s not even the sound of her feet shuffling in that little dance that Gaby does so well. When she doesn’t answer the door right away, he puts his hand on the door handle and tests it. It’s open and when he pushes it open, she’s not happy. Her shoe comes at him first. 

The high heel hits the door as he ducks down to avoid being hit. Illya quickly straightens himself up, “What are you doing?” 

“Better question is what are you doing in here? This is my room.” Gaby is angry, her little hands are curled into uniformed fists and she’s shaking. Napoleon’s coat is slung over the couch and her shoes are off, second heel presently next to her on the couch. He knows if she gets the chance, she’ll throw it at him. 

“You have Solo’s jacket.” 

Gaby lets out a little frustrated sound over the song on the radio and she moves for the jacket slung on the couch. She balls it up and throws it at Illya before she stomps past him and into her suite. Illya catches the jacket and rolls his blue eyes as he tosses it onto the floor. Gaby has her back to him when he enters the inner sanctum of her room. The bathroom light is on and there’s water running, most likely for a bath.

“You going to break into my bathroom next?” She asks as she reaches behind her. Her fingers fumble for a moment trying to grasp at the zipper along her back. Gaby doesn’t even bother to hide her annoyance with him.

“No --”

“Then why are you still here? Now, if you don’t mind, I need to wash the smell of New Orleans off.” Her words are sharp like broken glass as she fumbles for the zipper. Her fingers barely grasp the little piece of metal when she feels the calloused fingers of the Russian man close over hers. He gently pushes her hand away and pinches the zipper before he slowly drags it down. He pulls the small zipper down her back until he runs out of track. Gaby sucks in a sharp breath, eyes trained forward as she feels him move his hands up. His fingers sweep her hair aside and then she feels the edge of his nose brush the column of her throat. One of his hands slides down her back, pushing the edges of the fabric aside. The red dress slowly slips off her shoulders as his palm smooths from the small of her back, around the front of her body. His fingers splay out across her flat stomach, gently pushing the rest of the dress down with his other hand. 

“I could not help earlier with Armand,” Illya murmurs against her throat before he turns his head up and lets his mouth ghost over her earlobe. “I help now instead.” 

Gaby feels something warm blooming inside of her. Everywhere Illya touches there’s the spark of something electrical. When his fingers drift up to finger the edge of her lacy bra, he starts a fire under her skin. The bath is forgotten when she shifts her feet forward. Illya doesn't let her turn though. He moves both his hands down now, holding her hips tightly in his grip, threatening to bruise her soft skin. She feels his fingers slip down then, skimming along the edge of her expensive lingerie. The same ones Illya picked out for her weeks ago while they had been on assignment in Paris. Illya’s palms smooth over the sides of the lacy fabric, down over the curve of her bottom before he hooks his thumbs into the satin seams of the lace. Her breathing is picking up, chest rising and falling as he slowly starts inching the fabric down her legs. Illya lowers himself down to his knees dragging her lacy panties with him. His hand moves from the fabric to her ankle, lifting her foot to free the clothes before he carefully sets her foot back down. He does the same with her other foot, tossing the underwear aside he traces a path back up her legs. It's slow and deliberate as he mesmerizes the trail, taking his time with each and every inch of her legs. He pauses to press a soft kiss to the back of her knee and she trembles all over again. 

Illya can barely keep his place on his knees as he tilts his head up, admiring her from the ground up. He moves up on to his knees a little higher, pressing a kiss to the back of her thigh next. Illya’s nose slides up along her thigh, leaning up just enough to ghost his lips around the left side of her hip. His lips part and he listens to her gasp when he takes a bite of her soft flesh. Both of his hands move up next, dancing along her sides, watching her squirm for a moment before he presses a kiss to the small of her back. Illya grips along her rib cage and he turns her to face him with a slow step. Gaby’s knees are still trembling. Her stomach is a pool of heat and she can’t seem to catch her breath. Illya’s palms are rough as they slip up her stomach and he presses an open mouth kiss along the edge of her navel. Gaby sinks her teeth into her bottom lip before she lets her hands move down. She lets her fingers slip through his blond hair, messing it up. Her fingers brush the hair away from his forehead, letting her have a look at his blue eyes when he glances up at her. 

“How is this helping?” Gaby finds the words on the tip of her tongue and she can’t help but grin as he grabs a hold of one of her legs, pulling it over his shoulder. 

“Trust me,” Illya’s harsh accent washes over her as he turns his head in and kisses along her inner thigh. Everywhere he kisses starts an ember and those embers are blooming across her skin in a rush of heat. Her throat constricts, her lips part with his name and he doesn’t stop there. Illya mouths his way up her thigh before he drags his tongue over her in one long stroke of his tongue. Gaby is reduced to a sharp moan. Her fingers grip on to his hair and pull at it. She lets her weight rest on his shoulder as she leans further into his attentions. The Russian man has his hands on her waist and he holds her still as his tongue works over her. Gaby is falling over an edge quicker than she can find a grip. Her fingers dig into Illya’s hair down the back of his neck and against his shoulders. Before she can tumble though, he pulls away and the sound that leaves her throat is something animalistic. 

“No!” Gaby’s growl sends chills down his spine and she’s angry with him for pulling away, her nails dig into his shoulders as he moves up and Illya has the audacity to smirk against her flesh. 

“Patience Chop Shop Girl,” He mouths the words over her flesh and chill bumps raise everywhere. Illya begins his ascent up along her slender form, pressing his lips to her rib cage and then up along to the underside of her breast. He bites at the edge of her bra before pressing a kiss between them. Illya’s hands follow suit, moving up her sides and around her back. He smooths his palm over her back and pulls on the clasp of her bra. Gaby gives him another impatient growl as her hands move down his back, pulling at the tight muscles. Her nails dig in just long enough to leave red marks over his skin. He growls against her clavicle, finally unclasping the bra and dragging the fabric away. He lets his own blunt nails drag down her slender arch of her back, resting on the small of her back.

Illya presses on her back, pushing her further into him. His mouth draws a wet line up the center of her chest, pausing to bite at the soft flesh of her breasts. Her breath is picking up all over again as he sucks on a piece of flesh, purpling and bruising under his attention. Illya takes his time and her patience is running thin. Her hands dig into his shoulders and she pushes him back towards the bed. Her sudden push nearly knocks him off balance. His own anger surges for a moment.

“What are you doing?” He scoffs at her as she stalks forward to push him again. Illya grabs on to her wrists and fully stands up. He dwarfs her with his full height but Gaby is unyielding. She pushes on him again despite his hold on her wrists but he doesn’t move more than a step back. Instead he lifts her a bit, dragging her toes across the rich carpet as he pushes her towards the bed. Gaby fights him though. She yanks herself free from his hold and takes a step back just long enough to lunge for him. It’s Rome all over again. She tackles him and he’s so caught off guard he hits the ground hard. His head hits the carpet and all the air rushes from his lungs as the little mechanic stakes her claim. Gaby crawls up his chest, slow and steady, her lips hovering close to his. 

He’s been in this position before. They were still new to each other then, but now he knows all these moves. He knows how her lips taste, he knows how her skin feels under his hold. He moves to brush the hair from her face but Gaby catches his wrists much like he had done to her own. Her fingers stroke over the soft skin as she leans over him. She toys with him, her lips hovering over his and then dipping to the side. She doesn’t kiss him just yet. She lets her lips ghost over the corner of his mouth and then down the line of his sharp jaw. Illya could easily overpower her, but he lets Gaby have control for now. He feels his heart stuttering in his chest as he arches his back, feeling her mouth bury itself against his throat. She bites him then and the sharp pain catches him off guard. He groans and his lips part as a broken form of her name falls from his lips. 

Gaby’s hips press over his. She’s fully naked and he’s fully clothed. He can feel her heat sinking in against his clothes and he wants nothing more than to even the playing field as he arches his hips up and brushes against her own. Her lips part over his throat as she licks against the spot where her teeth were just at. She leaves behind a possessive mark as her lips trail lower to the edge of his buttoned down shirt. Once her lips meet the fabric she trails them back up and before he can beg her for a kiss, she puts him out of his misery. Gaby’s mouth presses over his in a harsh kiss and he doesn’t let her win anymore. He quickly pushes his hands up and she is no match for him strength wise. The sudden movement throws her off balance and Illya quickly rolls them over. He presses Gaby into the carpet, her back arching up to meet him as he covers her body with his own. They meet again in another kiss and she moans into his mouth as his hips cover hers. Gaby manages to get her hands free and she starts pulling at his suit jacket. Illya’s tongue presses over her own before he helps her out, letting the jacket come off before her hands are threatening to break the buttons on his shirt. 

He moves his own hands down, fingers carefully covering her own. He slows down her pulling, unbuttoning each of the buttons slowly, while her fingers trail over the slow exposure of his skin. She fans her fingers out over his chest, breaking the kiss with him to map out the edges and scars of his muscles. Her fingers trail along his flesh as he moves to take off his shirt, tossing it aside with the rest of their clothes. Gaby’s index finger starts at the center of his chest where she can feel the beating of his heart before sliding downwards. She traces a line down along his chest, following the planes of his tight muscles before she lets her fingers drop against his belt. He moves his hands down to cover her own, undoing the buckle of his belt. Gaby presses her fingers lower and then over the bulge in his pants where the fabric is pulled tight against him. His own breathing picks up as he glances down at her. She looks like an angel -- freshly fallen from heaven with her hair fanned out behind her. Her brown eyes are half-closed, lips red and parted as the tip of her tongue swipes across her bottom lip in anticipation

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. None of Napoleon’s stolen art compares to Gabriella Teller. She’s the key to his undoing, he’s slowly unraveling to her touch, no longer the same man he was before U.N.C.L.E. dominated his missions. The KGB would be ashamed of him and Illya can’t seem to care. His grip on his motherland is slipping because Gaby feels more and more like home. He shifts his hips up and manages to get his pants down his hips. He’s a foolish man in love with a woman who shouldn’t love him in return, but she does. He knows she does, even if the words never leave her lips. Her fingers cover his and she helps him push the pants the rest of the way down his legs. Illya loses his boxers next and she wraps her hand around his length. A sharp hiss leaves his lips as she slides her palm back and forth over him, tightening her grip just enough for him to lose her name once again. 

Illya’s hips jerk against her hand and he could let himself fall now, but he’s not some little boy. His hand moves down and catches her wrist, his thumb sliding up her forearm as he grips on to her arm, pulling her back. She’s all inviting as he strokes his fingers up along her arm, crawling his way back up her body. He easily covers all of her. Gaby is so small, he once thought he’d break her, but she is quite possibly the strongest person he knows. Moving over her, he nudges her legs apart with his knee. She let’s him cover her, lets him press his hips over hers and she even lets him kiss her. It’s sweet and chaste, carefully calculated as he draws his hips up and then presses against her. The small kiss is broken as he pushes himself inside of her. Gaby’s head falls back against the hotel carpet. 

Her lips part with a sharp moan and she arches her hips up to meet his own small thrust. He starts a slow rhythm listening to the sounds that fall from her lips. There’s something beautiful about the way she moves under him. Back arching as her legs slide up against his own. Gaby wraps her legs around him and pulls him in closer, arching her hips up once more. Illya’s hands move now. He lets go of her wrists and smooths a palm over her chest, pressing her down into the hotel carpet. His other hand moves down to her hips and he draws them up a bit more, rocking his hips harder into her own. 

Gaby’s hair is a matted mess, sticking to her forehead and throat as she turns her head back. A moan pulls from her throat and she moves her hands down, gripping onto his wrists. She wants to take control again but Illya doesn’t let her. He keeps her pinned to the floor, dragging all of the delicious sounds he can out of her. He wants to hear his name on her lips again, that light accent of hers scraping along her words. When she clenches around him, Illya moans. It’s deep from his chest and urges him on. He pulls his hips back just long enough to listen to her gasp as he slams back against her. His hips bruise her own and they’re a stuttering mess. Her lips form his name and it comes out all broken and cracked. Illya drags his hand down from her hip and runs his thumb over her clit. It’s a simple move that has her shouting now. Her back arches up off of the carpet, her legs tightening around him. She holds onto him tighter, carpet burns settling on to her backside as she shouts out his name. Illya’s thumb moves again and Gaby comes crashing down from the ledge he so carefully perched her on. She shudders under him and it drags him into his own release. His hips crash down into hers with a few more talented strokes and he’s lost. Sweat slides down his forehead as she slowly lets go of him. Her legs slip away from his as he pulls out of her, moving himself down. He presses his forehead against her chest and lays himself down against her. Illya can feel her arms swallowing him up as she hugs him. Her fingers trail along his hairline and he smiles softly along her skin. This is home. Gaby is home. He could be anywhere in the world but with her, he is home. 

He just has to work on realizing she is an agent too. Capable of anything -- including breaking him. 

Gaby’s breathing slowly eases out, her fingers stroking his hair like he’s the only thing present in her world. Illya turns his head down and his nose draws along her collarbone, “Maybe bath is in order, you stink of New Orleans.” 

He laughs and she swats at the back of his head with her own laugh shaking her bones. She rolls her eyes up to the hotel ceiling and grins one of those cat-like grins, “Care to join me?” 

Illya doesn’t hesitate to answer her. He turns his head up and kisses the edge of her collarbone then trails his way up her throat. He plants kisses everywhere, a light press of his lips as he finds her own and kisses her as he gathers her up. He wraps her in his arms and moves them. Her small legs wrap around him and Gaby clings to him as he leads her along the room for a bath. 

 

.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, like all my other fics I have no idea where this came from. I was too impatient to send this to a beta and you can find me on tumblr @fullofgeckos.


End file.
